I had a rude awaking on Saturday when my doctor's office called announcing that I had failed my last medical test. Yeah. I guess 'failing' is not the best word to use when describing a medical test since it raises too many questions to what I failed leaving those who check my blog to wonder "what the hell is wrong with this girl now?"

The details of the test are as follows dumbed down for a public blog post:

The found a few 'abnormal' cells in me. There is a good chance that these 'abnormal' cells are something not good. In three months I have to go back in and get re-tested to see if the cells continue to 'mutate'. If they have 'mutated' then I will have to go in for what they have described as a routine procedure to remove the mutations. Catching 'bad cells' early, as they tell me, is a good thing as it saves me from major cancer or other complications later on in what they expect in my so-called 'long and fruitful' life.

Currently I am at a loss at what I am to do in my regular day-to-day life. I am thinking what am I to do about all my charity and volunteer work I have currently put on hold because of the complications I have suffered from the mono. I don't know what to expect in my daily work life. Since Justin moved out last week I spend hours at home alone in a very echoy apartment looking at my cat and wondering how cruel it is to leave someone like me guessing what it is I have to do for the next three months as I wait for what happens next. It is like the first shoe has dropped and I am lying on the floor waiting for the other to maybe or maybe not drop.

I don't like to talk about it. I really don't like talking about how I feel sick or anything remotely connected to 'how I feel' since I deal that way. It's bullshit when I go out on work assignments and I see people who ask me questions regarding my health and it's getting to the point where I figure if I make charming note-cards on pink floral paper that explains where I have been and what I am going thru now it will save me from sounding like a broken record. Please, when you see me, don't talk to me about it. I hate it. Ask me questions about my art, my family or my work- just don't ask me "how are you feeling?"